Dude, Where's My Car?
by Susan82
Summary: Based on P.L. Wynter's challenge, what if the Impala went missing? Not a comedy, despite the title. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

"Dude, where's my car?"

Sam rolled his eyes as he followed his older brother out of the bar. He never thought the unselfish gesture he made six years ago would haunt him so. When Dean had offered to take him to a movie of his choice as an early Christmas present, Sam had his heart set on seeing Cast Away. However, knowing that Dean would be absolutely miserable watching a half-naked Tom Hanks frolic around alone on a beach for over two hours, Sam instead picked Dude, Where's My Car? Comedy, cars, and chics. It was as if the movie gods had reached down and made it especially for Dean. Sam had very few regrets in his life, however, that fateful decision was currently at the top of his list.

As he watched his slightly inebriated brother look wildly around the parking lot, Sam had to admire his commitment. It seemed Dean was really going to play this little game out for all it was worth. He supposed he owed it to Dean to play along. After all, he was the one who wanted to leave early. Not that he had to twist Dean's arm too hard. Lady Luck was definitely not smiling on Dean this night. After only taking in a paltry $40.00 hustling pool, he'd begun to make out with a pretty blonde, only to be shot down a few drinks later. Sam hadn't fared any better in his mission. He'd had no luck finding any new leads. It seemed as though the supernatural had taken a holiday.

Quietly hating himself, Sam caught up to Dean and played along. "Where's your car, dude?" He definitely had some karma points coming from that one.

Dean did not seem amused. "Sam, I'm serious." he said testily. "Where's the damn car?"

All right, enough was enough. "Right where you parked it, Dean. Under the light, right over there..." Sam's voice trailed off as both Winchesters followed Sam's pointing finger. The red pick-up truck they had parked next to was still there, as was the motorcycle. But the 1967 Chevy Impala, the pride and joy of Dean's life, was gone.

"Wait a minute. Where _is_ the car?" Sam blinked in confusion.

Dean slowly turned his head towards Sam, his green eyes practically bulging from his skull. "That's what I just said, Sam!" he said angrily. Did Sam really think he would joke about something as serious as this!

Sam didn't respond, just stared slack-jawed at where they had left the car only a couple hours before. He was so stunned that he didn't even flinch when Dean let out a string of curse words on the top of his lungs.

"I can't believe someone stole my car. Son of a bitch!" Dean paced around furiously.

"Ok, just calm down." Sam said.

"Calm down! Someone stole my car, Sam! My car!" Dean shouted.

"I know that, Dean! But stomping around and yelling isn't going to help anything." One of them had to remain level headed, and it sure wasn't going to be short tempered Dean. Wasn't the older sibling supposed to be the mature, rational one? How was it that he was always stuck with the thankless task of being the responsible, logical one?

"Well, it makes me feel better, okay?" Dean shot back. The truth was that it really didn't. Dean shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, hoping that would quell the urge to strike out at something…his brother for instance.

"What the...?" As his hands rooted around his pockets, he was perplexed as to what he found, or rather, didn't find. "My keys are gone."

Suddenly the pieces all fell into place. "Jennifer!"

"Jennifer? The girl who blew you off earlier?" Sam immediately wished he could take back what he'd just said. Nothing like kicking a guy when he's down.

Dean glared at Sam. "The bleach blonde bitch who hustled five drinks out of me. Yeah, her. She must have grabbed me keys while she was trying to give me a tonsillectomy with her tongue."

Sam resisted the urge to throw a few "I told you so"s Dean's way. Now was definitely not the time. Taking a few steps forward Sam surveyed the surrounding area. Not exactly in the best of neighborhoods, Chet's Bar stood in between a gas station and what appeared to be an abandoned two story house.

"We should check with the gas station, see if anyone saw anything. They probably have security cameras, too." Sam said.

"So does the bar." Dean said pointing at the camera mounted above the door. Sam was glad to see Dean was getting back to business.

"I'm going to head back into the bar and ask around, see what I can find out about this Jennifer. Look around out here, see what you can find." Although Dean appeared to have calmed down slightly, he was still in no shape to conduct an interrogation.

"Fine." Dean huffed. Turning abruptly on his heel he stormed further into the parking lot. Sam had only taken a few steps towards the bar when a dull _thump_ mingled with a loud yell made him whirl around.

"My car! My friggin' car!" Dean shouted. Sam groaned as he saw the dent Dean had just kicked into the side of a dirty black Cavalier. Yeah, keeping Dean away from other people was in everyone's best interests.

Even though it was still fairly early the place had pretty much cleared out. Four preppy twenty-somethings were in a serious game of darts in the far corner, while two brunette girls and a young blonde guy hung out at the bar. Sam leaned his forearms on the bar, narrowly missing some spilled beer, and called over to the bartender. The large man finished pouring drinks for the trio then ambled over to Sam.

At six foot five, Sam often had to lower his eyes to make eye contact with people. As the bartender came closer Sam found himself again having to adjust to meet the man's gaze, only in this instance, Sam's head tilted upwards. The bartender's name, Big John, was not an ironic one. Sam figured his height to be close to seven feet tall. The man was your stereotypical bartender, from the colorful tattoos on his muscular arms down to the bald head and bushy mustache. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he stared down at Sam.

"Thought you left." Big John growled.

Sam's mind raced as he tried to come up with a cover story. He couldn't very well say that the car had been stolen. The cops would have to be called, statements given. Sam could just imagine how that conversation would go. 'Actually, Officer, the car originally belonged to my deceased brother who was the main suspect in a murder case back in St. Louis. Oh, and if you find the car, pay no attention to the fake id's in the glove compartment and the mini-arsenal in the trunk.'

Sam flashed a friendly smile. "We did. But my brother lost his car keys. He thinks the girl he met tonight might have grabbed them by accident. I was hoping you might know how I can get in touch with her. Blonde girl, about 5'5"...name's Jennifer."

Big John slowly looked Sam up and down, then took a cloth and began wiping down the bar. Sam struggled to keep the smile on his face, suppressing the urge to scream. The girl already had at least a half hour head start; every second this fool delayed lessened the chances of finding the car.

"Don't ring a bell. Sorry." The bartender looked Sam square in the eyes, as if daring him to argue.

Sam exhaled through clenched teeth. "She left not that long ago. You served her and my brother drinks for over an hour. Look, all I need is a phone number. That's all I'm asking."

"I seem to recall something, but you may have to help jog my memory a bit." Putting down the rag, he held his open palm out towards Sam.

Sam sighed. Somehow he knew it would come down to that. As he reached into his back pocket someone came up from behind, bumping into his arm.

"You're gonna need help getting my foot out of your ass if you don't tell us what we need to know." Dean Winchester said menacingly.

The large man squinted his beady eyes down at Dean. "Oh really."

Sam bit back a groan. Sam snaked his hand over and grabbed Dean's arm, squeezing it hard. "Actually, Dean, our friend here was just about to help us out." With his other hand he flipped open his wallet and pulled out a twenty.

Big John glanced down at the bill. "Oh, you're gonna have to do better than that, pretty boy. The price is fifty bucks, and you can thank your little boyfriend here for the price hike."

Sam stomped hard on his brother's foot, partially out of frustration, and partially to keep Dean from making another wiseass comment that would push the price even higher.

"Will you excuse us for a minute? I don't have enough cash on me." Sam said.

"Whatever. Price goes up twenty bucks every five minutes." With that the bartender ambled back to where the young girls were waving a fistful of money.

Sam leaned his head close to Dean's as they walked away from the bar. "What the hell is wrong with you? He was all set to tell me about the girl until you came in playing Mr. Testosterone!"

"That blonde bitch is cruising around in my car while you're in here sucking up to that big tub of lard, so don't you dare tell me how to behave!" Dean whispered back harshly as he pushed open the door.

Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder and swung him around. "You're not the only one who lost something, Dean. My whole life is in that car. Jessica's pictures are in that car. So don't you dare pull that crap on me. I want to find it just as much as you do. But if you go around half-cocked we're never going to find out anything."

Dean stared past Sam for a few long seconds; the look on his face unreadable. He'd been so wrapped up in his own loss that he hadn't considered Sam's feelings. They had only managed to salvage a few pictures and one singed photo album from the ruins of Sam and Jessica's apartment. All other mementos…love letters, stuffed animals, everything that Sam had owned to remind him of the great love he and Jessica had shared had been ruined by the fire that also claimed her life.

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat as he thought about the other box in the back of the trunk. Precious pictures of his mother, of his family at their happiest that were almost too painful to look at lay inside the old wooden box. As much as the thought pissed him off, his car could be replaced. Those pictures couldn't.

"'Half-cocked?'" Dean repeated. "You don't really want me to go there, do you Sammy?"

A slight smile came across Sam's face. "I'd rather you didn't."

"You know, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm really glad Dad's not here." The very thought of telling his father that the classic car he'd entrusted to his eldest son was missing turned Dean's face pale in the glow of the parking lot lights.

"Yeah." Sam said softly.

Dean could tell from the sympathetic expression on his kid brother's face that he was gearing up to have one of those touchy-feely moments. Dean hadn't had enough alcohol to endure one of those on top of everything he'd been through over the last few hours. The happy little buzz he'd had was as gone as his car. Tugging his jacket into place, he walked back towards the bar, quashing the moment before it could begin.

"Come on, Sam. Let's see what we can get out of the Jolly Green Giant."


	2. Chapter 2

"Let me do the talking, Dean." Sam directed the words at Dean's back as he followed him into Chet's Bar.

Dean held the door open for Sam, and waited until they were side by side before answering. "I've got a better idea. I'll go talk to Ambercrombie & Fitch over there," he said, motioning to the four men still embroiled in a tense game of darts, "while you finish up with Big John." Without waiting for a response Dean walked away

Sam watched Dean offer up an easy smile as he approached the young men. Dean appeared to be calm and collected, but Sam knew under the surface a volcano was brewing. All it would take is one wrong look to send Dean exploding into a deadly rage. If that happened, Sam could only hope he could intervene fast enough to prevent any life threatening injuries. After all, there were only four of them.

"Hey, guys, who's winning?" Dean stood off to the side, watching as yet another dart narrowly missed the bull's-eye.

The four guys looked at each other then returned to the game, purposefully ignoring the newcomer.

Dean gave a dangerous laugh, then forced himself to count to ten. While he wanted nothing more than to hit one or all of those preppie little snots, beating the crap out of them would get him no close to the answers he needed. He tried again.

"Listen, guys, I hate to interrupt your game, but I just have a few quick questions. I'm looking for someone who was in here a little while ago. Blonde girl, named Jennifer. Do any of you know her?"

"What's she to you?"

Dean turned his attention to the young man tossing the darts. About an inch taller than himself, the guy looked like he should be reading poetry at a coffee shop, not hanging out in some seedy bar. After watching the dart successfully hit the target, he smoothed down his tan sweater and faced Dean.

"I think she may have accidentally grabbed my keys." Dean replied.

"Hmm, sucks to be you."

Dean gritted his teeth at the remark. Just keep pushing, he mentally willed the young man. Just give me a reason.

As Dean took a step towards him, one of his buddies stepped in front of Dean.

"I'm Mike. This is Joe," he said, pointing to the kid in the tan sweater, "And over there are Bill and Sean. You from around here?"

Dean shook his head. "No. In fact, I have somewhere I have to be, which is why it's really important I find Jennifer. Which is also why I'm stuck here talking to you country club rejects."

"And all that's missing is your car keys?" Mike asked skeptically.

"What are you getting at?" Dean squinted his eyes suspiciously.

"Billy over here knows a lot about cars. He can probably hot-wire your car for you." Sean said. His tone held a challenging quality, as if daring Dean to continue with his charade.

Dean could see they knew more than they were letting on. "Fine, ok, she stole my car, too. There, you happy? Now, for the last time, do you know her?"

The four friends stood shoulder to shoulder facing Dean. "Why didn't you call the police?" Sean asked.

"I was hoping to do things the easy way. Look, I don't want any trouble. All I want is my car back."

Joe folded his arms across his chest and glared at Dean. "You may not want trouble, but that's exactly what you have. There are four of us and only one of you. Now, I know this is probably well beyond your fourth grade math, but that means you're outnumbered."

"Oh, bring it on, tough guy." Dean started to take off his jacket.

Mike broke away from his friends and stood in between them and Dean. "Come on, cut it out! This is stupid." Turning to Dean, he continued. "Look, just be patient. I'm sure your car will show up in a few hours."

The foursome exchanged uncertain looks as Sam walked up behind Dean. Four against two seemed like decent odds, except when the two were built like the Winchesters. Dean normally loathed having a younger brother who towered over him, but at times it did have some advantages. He tossed his jacket onto a nearby table and focused all his attention on the group's weak link.

"Mike, is it? Just tell me where I can find this Jennifer chic and we'll let you finish your game. You might even get out of here early enough to have Mommy tuck you in. It is a school night, isn't it?"

Sam lowered his head towards Dean and spoke quietly. "Dean, let's just go. I got what we need."

Keeping his eyes trained on Mike, Dean shook his head. He had the kid right where he wanted him. One of two things were about to happen. Dean could tell from the flush that covered Mike's cheeks that he was either ready to tell Dean what he needed to know or start a brawl. At this point, Dean was fine with either scenario.

"I think it would be best for everyone if you called the cops and put in a report. I'll even do it for you. Then you and your buddy can leave." Mike pulled out a sleek cell phone and began to dial.

"I'd rather you didn't do that." Dean snatched the phone away from a surprised Mike and flipped it shut.

"Here we go." Sam muttered under his breath as Bill and Seanbegan to attack. Dean blocked Bill'spunch and countered with a hard left to his stomach. A savage grin crossed Dean's face as he watched Bill flop backwards onto the dirty floor. A split second later Sean joined his counterpart on the ground, his hand rubbing the cheek that bore the mark of Sam's jab.

Mike's hand was on Joe's shoulder, holding him back. Judging from the nervous expression on Joe's face, it wasn't entirely necessary.

"Easy, dude. Chill. Her name is Jennifer Johnson, all right? I don't know where she lives or her number, but her last name is Johnson." Joe said rapidly.

"Johnson." Dean scoffed. "You sure it's not Smith? You gotta do better than that."

"Her last name really is Johnson." Mike said pleadingly. "She goes to our school. That's all we know. Seriously."

"Dean, we gotta go." Sam said earnestly.

"Sam, not now."

Sam grabbed Dean's jacket and began to push him towards the door. "Yeah, Dean. Now." Dean may not have noticed Big John coming their way, but Sam sure did. While he was fairly certain the two of them could take on the seven foot tall behemoth, he wasn't really looking to test that theory. Once Dean did see the bartender rounding the end of the bar he reluctantly followed Sam towards the door, favoring the four preppies with one last scowl before heading outside.

"Great job, Dean." Sam punctuated his words by shoving Dean's jacket into his chest.

"I was handling things just fine, Sam." Dean replied angrily.

"Yeah, you've done a real stellar job of handling things all night long." Sam muttered.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. "Excuse me?"

Sam sighed. "Forget it."

"No, Sam. If you've got something to say, then say it."

"I'm just saying, none of this would've happened if you hadn't been…" Sam trailed off. Arguing with his brother wouldn't bring him anything except more wasted time. Taking a breath, he tried again. "…if you had been helping me find a new gig instead of making friendly with the locals."

" 'Making friendly with the locals?'" Dean snorted. Although tempted to laugh at Sam's odd choice of words, he knew there was truth in them. He knew this whole situation was his fault; he certainly didn't need his little brother to rub his face in it.

"What do you want me to say? That this is all my fault? Fine. The car getting stolen was all my fault. There, are you happy? Can we get on with finding it now?"

"Just how do you plan on doing that?" Even as the words left his mouth, Sam had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what Dean's plan was. "Dean, no."

Sam jogged over to his brother, who was circling around the red pick-up truck still parked next to the spot once occupied by Dean's car. "They'll have the cops on us in no time. How do you expect to find the car while we're hiding from the police?"

Dean ignored Sam as he peered through the driver's side door. He figured he could have the alarm off and the engine running in under a minute. "Get ready."

"At least let me drive." Sam tried.

"Believe me, Sam. Whatever happy little buzz I had is gone. Now, get ready." Dean repeated.

Sam threw his hands up in defeat and went over to the passenger side door. He hadn't had the chance to tell Dean what he'd learned from the bartender before their hasty exit. Now was not the time, though. He didn't want to distract Dean from his task. He just hoped the truck had a map; they'd need it where they'd be going.

A shrill wail pierced the silence as Dean got the door open and dove inside. The alarm was cut off as Dean ripped out the wires. "Get in!" he shouted as he worked on getting the truck started.

Sam had barely enough time to shut the door as the engine roared to life. Dean floored the gas pedal, giving a shout of triumph as he peeled out of the parking lot. A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed him no one from the bar had even come out to check on the noise.

"Jennifer Johnson." Dean said absently. "Of course, that really doesn't do us any good seeing as the laptop is in the car."

Sam popped open the glove compartment and began rifling through the contents. "Thanks to our good friend, Big John, we don't need it." he said as he pulled a map out.

"What'd you find out?"

Sam didn't answer right away but continued studying the map. "What road are we on?"

"Uh, Danbury Lane. Heading west."

"Turn around. We need to go the other way."

Sam gripped the dashboard with his free hand as Dean made a fast u-turn. Consulting the map, he continued. "About four miles up make a left onto Claudette. Then it's about another fifteen miles until we get there."

"Get where?" Dean asked.

"Blue Corners Road."


	3. Chapter 3

"So, what did my fifty bucks get us?" Dean asked as he fiddled with the truck's radio. Every station he found either twanged country, or moaned oldies. After another quick run of the dial Dean shut the radio off and gave his full attention to his brother.

"Seems that there's a local legend about a haunted stretch of highway. It's kind of a local rite of passage to drive down there when the moon is full. Big John thinks that's where she's headed." Sam shook his head. "I guess we found our next gig."

"Haunted? What exactly are we talking here?"

"People have reported seeing an old black car just idling at one end of the road. If you try to continue down the road it races straight at you. It's sort of a version of chicken; see how long you can last before turning."

"Ghost chicken." Dean snorted. These backwoods folks really needed a better hobby. "Is this for real?"

Sam shrugged. "Apparently."

"Sounds like a recurring haunting. Did he know any history on this mysterious car?" Dean asked.

"We didn't get that far. I had to go help my jackass brother beat up some college preppies." Sam said dryly.

"Cute." Dean glared over at Sam before continuing. "So why take my car?"

Sam suddenly became very interested in the map he had splayed across his lap. "So far, no one has outlasted the ghost car. Everyone has swerved away, and when they look back the car vanishes into thin air."

Dean's eyes widened as realization set in. "You think she's going to use my classic 1967 Impala to try and beat this ghost car at chicken?"

"Why risk your own car when you can use someone else's?" A lump formed in Sam's throat as he envisioned the two black cars colliding head-on, the Impala exploding in a terrific ball of fire that not only killed the young blonde driver, but sent the few surviving scraps of his and Jessica's life together up in smoke. Swallowing past the lump, he said in a low voice, "Drive faster, Dean."

Dean put the pedal to the floor as they drove through the outskirts of town. Soon the full moon was the only source of light as they past the last few houses. Sam folded up the map and put it back in the glove compartment. "Slow down, Dean. We're almost there."

Dean's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. Everything about this felt wrong. They were heading face first into a supernatural situation they knew next to nothing about, completely unarmed, undoubtedly with the cops hot on their heels.

Dean slowed the truck down to a crawl. "This is it?"

Sam nodded, his hazel eyes searching the surrounding area. "As far as I can tell."

Sam gasped his brother's name a split second before Dean saw the car. The Impala was parked diagonally on the shoulder, only the back tires were still on the road; the front tires rested on the grass. The headlights lit up the trees that lined the side of the road. As Dean pulled closer he saw the driver's door was wide open, as if beckoning him back inside.

Dean pulled the pickup up behind the Impala, breathing a sigh of relief as the glow from the truck's headlights revealed his car to be in no worse shape than when he left it. The truck still running, Dean leapt from the cab and bolted over to his car. He gave the outside a thorough once over before sticking his head inside. The keys were not in the ignition.

"Dammit!" he exclaimed as he slapped his hand against the steering wheel. Immediately realizing what he'd done, Dean's jaw dropped. Mumbling an apology, he lowered himself into the driver's seat and ran his hands across the leather seat. The scent of leather never smelled so good.

"Should I leave you two alone?"

Dean looked through the dirty windshield to see a smirking Sam leaning casually on the hood. "I'd appreciate it if you'd get your monkey paws off my car."

Dean waited until Sam stood up straight before leaning over and opening the glove compartment. A quick check of the cigar box inside revealed that none of their fake id's and badges had been taken. Dean glanced into the backseat and grabbed their father's journal, which lay splayed open on the floor. Dean closed his eyes in relief. Everything would be ok.

After readjusting the rearview mirror, Dean got out and headed for the trunk. He held his hand out to Sam and simply said, "Keys."

Sam pulled his set of keys from his pocket and let them dangle over Dean's open palm for a moment. "Try not to lose this set."

Wordlessly Dean snatched the keys and opened the trunk. A quick inventory revealed all of their gear to be in place. Dean grabbed a pistol and put it in the waistband of his jeans. He then grabbed a shotgun and a handful of their homemade rocksalt bullets.

"What're you doing?" Sam asked.

"If there's a ghost car out here somewhere, I'm not taking any chances until we know what exactly we're dealing with." Dean loaded a bullet into the chamber.

"I wonder what happened to Jennifer." Sam mused as he looked around at the surrounding darkness.

"Don't know, don't care." He handed the shotgun to his Sam and proceeded to load the other.

"We got lucky." Sam said gravely.

Dean slammed the trunk shut and said. "I know. This is the last time someone other than a Winchester drives my car. No more ghosts, shapeshifters, or blonde whores. That's it."

"We should hit the road before the cops find us." Sam said.

"Agreed." Dean handed the other gun to Sam and began to get in the car. He had one leg in when a bright light came out of nowhere, blinding him.

"What the hell…?" Dean put his hand up, attempting to shield his eyes from the intense light. As his eyes slowly adjusted he was just able to make out the outline of a large black car shining it's headlights directly onto the brothers.

"Dean? I think we found the ghost car." Sam shouted over the rumbling of the engine.

Although the black car was at least 250 feet away, the volume of the engine made Dean's stomach quiver. Shining it's high beams directly at the Winchesters, it seemed to be waiting for them to make their move. Well, it could wait all it wants; Dean Winchester wasn't about to put his baby through anymore grief. From the looks of things, the Impala had already had a go at the ghost car. Dean wasn't going to give it another chance.

"Dean!"

Ignoring his brother's alarmed shout, Dean took a few steps into the road and raised the shotgun. Not sure what effect the rocksalt would have, if any at all, Dean squinted into the bright light and squeezed off a shot. Almost instantly the lights dimmed, then went out altogether.

Peeking it's way through the clouds, the moon sent down a beam of light that illuminated the car just enough for Dean fully see it. Despite himself, Dean gave a low whistle of appreciation. It appeared to be a 1965 Mustang. Not a bad car. Of course, not even in the same league as his bad-ass Impala.

Sam's voice carried over the low hum of the Mustang. "Uh, Dean? I think it's moving."

Dean cocked his head to the side in disbelief, watching as the car slowly veered towards him. The moon ducked back behind the cloud, as if afraid to witness the events about to happen below. Dean raised the gun to his shoulder, taking careful aim as the Mustang began to increase in speed.

"Dean! Get out of the road!" Sam shouted frantically.

Dean aimed his first shot at the Mustang's front tire. After swerving wildly, the driverless car continued down the road. As he fired the second shot, he watched as his handmade rocksalt bullet seemed to cut through the air in slow-motion. A metallic bang echoed as it hit the grill. The car flickered in and out of sight a few times, reminding Dean of the old projectors his teachers had tormented him with in grade school.

The engine cut out abruptly as the car seemed to lose momentum. A moment later Dean yelled in pain as the headlights came on again, shining directly into his eyes. He took a step backwards as he brought his hands up to shield his eyes, dropping the gun. The roar of the Mustang's engine came back, so loud Dean felt for sure his eardrums would explode.

Overwhelmed by the assault on his senses, Dean stood helpless as the Mustang traveled the last twenty feet towards him.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam's shotgun hit the pavement a split second after his Dean's. Sam ran around the back of the Impala and darted into the road. Rubber soles raced against rubber tires, both heading as fast as possible towards the seemingly paralyzed Winchester. His head down and his arms out, Sam slammed into his older brother. Dean's yelp of surprise was drowned out by the thunderous noise of the Mustang's engine as it raced by them, narrowly missing Sam.

Sam tried to angle his fall so that he didn't land entirely on top of Dean, but the whoosh of air that came out of Dean told Sam he wasn't completely successful. Sam pushed himself off his older brother and shot to his knees, ready to grab Dean if the car made another pass. He breathed a sigh of relief upon noticing the only two vehicles on the road were the Impala and their "borrowed" pickup truck. Sam turned his attention to Dean, who was slowly sitting up.

"Hey, you ok?" Sam asked, reaching out to help him.

Dean smacked his hand away. "I'm fine. My jacket's seen better days, though." he said ruefully, taking in the long rip that ran from just below his shoulder down to his elbow.

Sam stood up and again extended his hand. This time Dean accepted the help, offering a sincere, "Thanks, man." as he got to his feet.

"I think I sprained my wrist." Dean said as he gingerly picked pieces of gravel from his bloody palm.

Sam leaned in to look, wincing in sympathy. "Come on, we've got to get that cleaned up."

Dean shook his head. "First we get the hell out of here before that poor excuse for a muscle car comes back. Then we'll worry about fixing the wounds you inflicted on me."

"Fine. The next time a ghost car tried to make road kill out of you, I'll leave your petrified ass to get run over. How's that sound?" Sam playfully shot back.

Whatever comment Dean was about to make was lost as the sound of an idling engine cut through the quiet night. Sam's grin faded as he looked over Dean's shoulder to see the Mustang back where it was only a few minutes ago. A million thoughts raced through his mind as Sam tried to piece together a plan. Would they have enough time to get to the Impala before the ghost car reached them? What if it didn't start right up? Could they get it turned around before the ghost car came at them again?

Sam slowly raised his hand. Without taking his eyes off the Mustang, he whispered, "Keys."

Dean slowly reached into his pocket and placed the key ring in Sam's palm. He could tell from his little brother's expression that Sam had a plan. But there was no time for explanations. Dean had to trust that Sam knew what he was doing as they began backing towards the Impala.

Hands on the door handles, both men froze as the Mustang revved it's engine twice. When the car made no further movement they got in the car.

"The shoulder's level. Just make a fast u-turn and floor it." Dean said as he braced himself with his good arm.

Sam's eyes flicked over at Dean for a moment. He wasn't quite sure who he more afraid of at the moment; the deadly Mustang or the reaction of his brother once he realized Sam's plan. Taking a few deep breaths to steel himself up, Sam started the car.

Sam flicked on the Impala's headlights at the same time the Mustang's came on. Sending a mental apology to Dean, Sam steered the black car into the middle of the road and floored it.

"Sam! What are you doing? Sam!" Dean screamed as the Mustang raced straight at them. Sam's face was ashen as he sat back in the driver's seat, his elbows locked as he held the wheel in a deathgrip.

_Seventy-five feet_. The Mustang's high beams turned on. _Fifty feet_. Dean grabbed Sam's arm with his left hand, ignoring the pain in his injured wrist as he tried frantically to steer his car away from harm. _Twenty feet_. Sam wrenched his arm away and pushed Dean hard into the passenger door. Dean felt his heart skip a beat as he realized Sam wasn't going to back off. Sam was planning on seeing the ghost car's game of chicken to the end. _Ten feet_. A primal scream ripped from his throat as he tensed his body for the fatal crash.

But the crash never came. Dean nearly choked as a hand grabbed him on the shoulder. His eyes flew open as he gasped for air. He was slouched down in his seat, his arms in front of his face.

Sam removed his hand from Dean's shoulder and let it fall limply onto the seat. He pried his other hand off the wheel and shakily ran it across his face. Both brothers felt numb as they tried to comprehend what had happened.

"Is it gone?" Dean asked hoarsely.

"Uh huh." Sam said slowly.

"That was too close." Dean said breathlessly. Sam nodded in agreement.

Dean pushed himself upright in the seat, wincing at the pain in his injured wrist. "Come on, Sam. I don't want to be here when that damn thing comes back for another round."

"I don't think it will." Sam replied, a bit of awe still tinting his voice.

Sam glanced to his right, not quite meeting Dean's gaze. "It passed right through us. There was this bright flash of light, and then it was gone."

Dean's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Did you know this was going to happen when you sent us headfirst at that thing?"

"Ye..yeah." Sam stammered unconvincingly. "Well, I was fairly certain. Big John said everyone who took on the car turned away before it reached them. The car keeps showing up on every full moon; obviously it had some unfinished business. I put two and two together. It made sense."

" 'It made sense.'" Dean repeated flatly. "What is wrong with you? You risk your life on a hunch? And you let me get in the car with you? _And_ you used _my _car! This is the second time you put me and my car at risk because of one of your stupid hunches!" Dean shouted.

"That's not true!" Sam shot back.

"Do I need to remind you of my run in with the truck down in Missouri?"

"What? The plan worked, didn't it? Just like tonight." Sam weakly defended himself.

But Dean wasn't done. "And why the hell did you use _my _car? Why didn't you use the truck?"

"The truck?" Sam's hazel eyes widened as he looked in the rearview mirror. "I guess I forgot about it."

"Dude, you are such an idiot."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, then changed his mind. Granted, risking their lives on a theory probably wasn't his brightest move, but they'd often acted on less. "Look, the important thing is, it worked. And you have your car back." Sam ended on a positive note, hoping to shift the focus off himself.

Dean saw through Sam's meager attempt to change the subject, but was too exhausted and sore to continue. "Whatever. Let's just go."

Sam hesitated as he began to turn the key. "We should stop at the next town, do some research on the car. Just to make sure it's really gone."

"Oh we're stopping at the next town, all right. But the only research I'll be doing is how many beers it'll take to get that fantastic buzz back."

"Dean…" Sam began.

"Sam, in the last several hours my car was stolen by some little blonde bitch, the meager amount of money I won at pool my _annoying_ kid brother blew getting info out of some reject from Hell's Angels, I nearly get flattened by a ghost car…a pretty-boy Mustang, no less, and then my _dumbass _kid brother decides to play chicken in my newly found car."

Taking a deep breath, Dean continued his rant. "Now, no one has died from going up against this ghost car."

"Not that we know of." Sam interrupted.

Dean held up a warning hand. "So even if your little experiment didn't work, there's no harm in letting it be for a little while longer. Besides, the next full moon is what, like a month away?"

Sam just nodded, knowing nothing he could say would change Dean's mind.

"All right. So, start 'er up. And keep your eyes open for the nearest bar. I need a beer like nobody's business."

"Fine." Sam conceded. Turning the car around, Sam couldn't resist one last dig. "How about I hang onto the keys this time?"

Dean glared at Sam. "Just drive, smartass." he said as he turned on the radio. With the sounds of Metallica pulsating through the car, neither Winchester heard the ominous revving of an unembodied engine as they drove off into the night.

**The End**

**Author's Note**: I'm thinking of maybe adding a sequel to this, but I haven't quite decided. So, hopefully this little ditty will stand on it's own for now. Thanks, I hope you enjoyed it.


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